As Freezing Persons Recollect the Snow
by Solstice Zero
Summary: A very distant discussion between Jack and Ianto, just after "Out of Time", referencing the episode.


_**Author's Note:** This story takes place fairly soon (days) after "Out of Time" from Season One, and references what happened in that episode. I recognize the irony of that fact that it is currently about 90 degrees Fahrenheit where I am, and I whole-heartedly blame minimumstitch and her story "Slip Sliding Away" for putting a snowy Cardiff into my head. "Out of Time" took place in December, and I was planning this conversation anyway, so I figured: snow. Why not?_

_This is the Hour of Lead--  
Remembered, if outlived,  
As Freezing persons recollect the Snow  
First -- Chill -- then Stupor -- then the letting go --  
**-Emily Dickinson**_

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A snowball hit Ianto squarely in the back of the head.

He tapped his earpiece. "I know that was you."

He was halfway across Roald Dahl Plass, carrying a bag of shopping. They were out of essentials. It was night; the others had all long been gone. All of them but for Jack.

In his ear he heard Jack, curious. "What are you doing back?"

He lifted the bag in his hand, unsure of where Jack was, but fairly certain he'd be able to see it.

"Ahh," Jack said. "You realize it's almost midnight, right?"

"I'm aware." Ianto scanned the area; railings, rooftops, anywhere Jack might be hiding in plain sight.

Ah. There he was.

"You're on the roof of the Millennium Center."

"I'm aware."

Ianto grinned at the repetition. "May I ask why?"

"I do my best thinking from on high."

Ianto stared up at the silhouetted figure on the roof, dark against the snow, bright against the sky. "God of all the little men, Jack Harkness."

"I like to think so." The grin on Jack's face was evident in his voice, even if Ianto couldn't see him properly.

Ianto shifted the bag from one hand to the other, the plastic cutting into his skin. "What are you thinking about?" He framed it lightly, as though disinterested. It was a long shot.

Jack ignored the question in much the way Ianto thought he would. "Aren't you cold?"

"I'm fine." He wasn't; he was freezing. But he was curious. He was quiet for a moment, letting the silence spool out. Then, "I had my car serviced today."

Jack said nothing. That was answer enough.

"On Torchwood's tab. I hope you don't mind."

Finally, Jack said, "It's fine." A pause. Quietly, "It was my fault, anyway."

Ianto set the bag on the ground – it was too heavy to keep holding, and his hands were frozen. He stuffed them in his pockets. "It wasn't your fault, sir."

Ianto could _feel_ Jack's shrug. He wondered what that said about how well he knew the man.

"It wasn't. You tried. Did what you could."

"It wasn't enough."

Ianto's turn to be silent. It was true.

Jack went on, still quiet. "I let him go. I was there. I found him, then I let him go."

Ianto blinked, surprised. He hadn't known that. But – "It was his decision. He knew he wouldn't have got on. He might have tried, but – he didn't want to. He'd lost everything."

Jack seemed to think for a moment.

"I could have said the same thing about you, a few months ago."

Ianto winced against the memory – Lisa.

Jack continued, "You didn't kill yourself. You'd lost everything you cared about. You were in the same situation. So how can John have that excuse?"

Ianto shrugged. "He didn't need an excuse, Jack. It isn't about strength or weakness, or reasons. Living is a choice."

Jack laughed. It was the darkest sound Ianto had ever heard. "Living is a choice."

"It is," Ianto said, but he surprised himself by sounding somehow unsure.

He heard Jack sigh. "I'll be back in the hub in a while."

Ianto bent to pick up the bag. "Would you like me to have coffee ready?"

Jack sounded surprised. "You don't have to wait up for me."

"I will." Ianto looked up at the shape of Jack in the dark. "Coffee?"

Jack was quiet for a moment.

"Thanks," he said, finally.

"My job, sir."

Ianto moved across the Plass toward the Tourist Information Center, careful of his footing on the snow in the dark, and feeling Jack's eyes on him all the way to the door.

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_**A/N 2:**__ I promise to have a new multi-chaptered story soon. I have three ideas that I am tossing around; I just need a breakthrough on at least one of them, and then I can start working on it. Breakthroughs are suddenly few and far between. Perhaps I'm burning out? Work through, work through._

_Thanks for reading.  
_


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